Bedside Revelations
by sharingank
Summary: He's never realized how young he is until now...HitsuHina with a squick of implied RanGin


So. Hitsu/Hina. Yeah. Not a huuuge fan, but...I'm surprised how happy I am with this. XD (It was written for a friend who is sick. Hehehe). Hope y'all enjoy!

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**Bedside Revelations**

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He sits by her side, holding her cold, limp hand in his and wondering when, if ever, she'll wake from the nightmare Aizen weaved about her, about them all...

"I should've gotten there sooner," he rebukes himself, noting how translucent her pale skin looks, how drawn her face is. There are big black bags beneath her eyes, and they age her considerably. Without realizing it, his grip on her fingers tightens, as if he's trying to squeeze life back into her. He hates seeing her like this, hates the weakness that prevented him from killing that traitorous _dog_ who made her heartsick.

Hadn't he said he'd kill him if he touched her? Hadn't he become a shinigami...a _captain_...so he could be near her always, protect her even when she doesn't know he's watching? Because his vigilance is constant. He has one eye on her no matter where he is, like he's done since they were children.

But her soul is shattered, an injury worse than the wound in her chest, and he can't do anything to save her other than keep a solemn vigil where she sleeps, and pray to whomever it is that hears him that she'll pull through.

It's been awhile since he's prayed, and it makes him uncomfortable. He doesn't remember the last time he's ever felt so helpless, and he doesn't want to.

Hitsugaya Toushirou is the type of person that needs to have all his ducks in order before he acts. He's analytical. Give him facts, and he'll organize them, present them in a way that makes sense. His personality is as unchanging as his wild silver hair: it's always messy, and he's always feisty. He doesn't believe in fate, and he doesn't like admitting that maybe there is something out there that controls every living thing including him, which is why he only prays when he's desperate.

And he _is_ desperate. She has to survive. There's no alternative. He refuses to contemplate a world without her in it because it crushes him, and he can't afford to let his guard down, especially now.

"I'm sorry, Hinamori," he whispers, the sudden, unfamiliar burning sensation in his eyes forcing him to close them. He _isn't_ crying. It's absurd. He _will not_ cry.

Yet the tears escape their confinement, regardless of what he wants, and once they start they don't stop. He feels like a pathetic little _kid_ as he empties himself of all the emotion he's held in, his breath coming in choking gasps and his head aching.

It makes him realize how young he is, how vulnerable.

That's what happens when you grow up too fast. You come to a crossroads, a point between moving forward or breaking, and you have nothing there to guide you but your own jugement.

Here, in this room, he is Shiro-chan, Hinamori's friend and confidant, not Hitsugaya Toushirou, and he's lost.

He wants someone to cling to, _anyone_...

"Oh, Taichou."

Anyone other than Matsumoto.

"Mmph!"

"There, there." She strokes his hair as she holds him to her bosom, oblivious to his muffled protests. "It's okay. Go on and cry, you poor thing. I won't say a word."

"Mfumopho."

"Really, Taichou. Just pretend I'm not here."

Hitsugaya is convinced that if _she_ were in his position, she'd find it quite difficult to ignore her.

"MATSUMOTO!"

Somehow, he manages to escape her death-grip and glares at her, cheeks flushed from the tears or embarassment, it is hard to tell.

"What the hell did you think you were doing?" He demands, temper frayed. "I almost suffocated!"

Delicately curved brows arch as Rangiku crosses her arms beneath her full breasts, and a smile tugs at her lips. "Etiquette, Taichou," she chides mischievously. "We're in a sick room. You know it's bad form to raise your voice in a sick room."

He opens his mouth to snap at her, and then closes it promptly.

"What was that?" She's toeing the line, but she's fine with that. It nearly ripped out her heart when she heard him sobbing, and this way, at least, she can return things to normal.

One of his eyes twitches. "Shut up, Matsumoto."

Beaming, she sits beside him instead. "That's hardly a way to talk to your second-in-command."

The other eye twitches. "Patronizing is worse."

Feigning astonishment, she says, "I'm not patronizing! I would _never_--"

Rangiku stops when he glares at her again, because she'd laugh if she tried to finish.

He continues to shoot dark looks her way until he sighs, though it is an explosive, Hitsugaya sigh. "Yeah, all right, I cried. And...and you saw. And this goes _nowhere_, got it?" She nods, and he becomes more frustrated, the words tumbling out of him before he can stop them. "What do you want from me, Matsumoto? Do you want me to crack and confess that I love her and I hate her and that her betrayal still hurts, but I just want her...I want her..." He trails off, mortified.

However she understands more than he knows.

"Love is a funny thing," Rangiku's voice is subdued, bittersweet, and it captures his attention. "It can make you act irrationally, forget about everything but that one person. All you want is to make them happy, to spend every moment in their presence..." Her gaze meets his. "Hinamori couldn't change the way she felt. She truly loved...Aizen..."--They both grimaced at the name--"...and he manipulated her by pinning his death on you. Try to think of it from her perspective. What would you have done if you were told _I_ killed _her_?"

He is silent for a few moments.

What _would_ he have done?

The cool corner of his mind had an answer ready.

_You'd want revenge. You'd go after her and rip her apart._

"See? Not so easy, is it?"

Hitsugaya's throat is dry. "No."

"Don't worry so much, Taichou." Rangiku kisses his cheek quickly and stands, ignoring his mutinous expression. "Everything'll work out in the end, I promise."

Once he recovers from the kiss, he calls over his shoulder, "Matsumoto."

At the door, she pauses. "Mm?"

"Thank you."

Somewhat surprised, she grins. "You're welcome."

"And remember, if you even _mention_ anything about this to _anybody_, you'll regret it."

She opens the door, the grin growing wider. "Anything about what?"

After he is sure she's gone, he allows himself to smile.


End file.
